In the Enemy's Arms (3 page)

But, he acknowledged as footsteps shuffled in the front hall, they couldn’t stay where they were.

He slid out the door, holding it until Cate had followed, then carefully eased it shut. Taking her hand again, he walked close to the house, listening to sounds of at least two, maybe three, men inside, straining to hear any noise from outside.

At the corner of the house, he glanced down. “Ready for a bit of fun, doc?”

Her knuckles white on the handle of her bag, she swallowed hard and nodded. With a nod of his own, they left the safety of cover and ran for the rusty gate. Short legs like hers couldn’t run as fast as he could walk, but he kept a quick pace anyway, his hand on her upper arm half dragging, half carrying her along.

When they reached the open gate without incident, he released her and tossed her the extra helmet he always carried. “Put that on.” He had his own helmet on in seconds, then used a bungee cord to fasten her bag to the backrest. She was still fumbling with the strap when he lifted her by the waist and hefted her onto the seat.

“Hey!”

“It’s not brain surgery, doc, and we’ve got to get out of here.”

He swung his leg through the space left for him and started the engine. Glancing back to see if she was settled, he caught movement in his peripheral vision, then a gunshot cracked in the heavy air. The bullet passed between them, exploding into a cinder block across the alley, and every muscle in Justin’s body cramped.

Revving the powerful engine, he released the clutch and the bike shot forward. Zero to 150 in ten seconds, the manufacturer claimed, and he was pretty sure he’d just demonstrated it. He drove like a demon through four blocks of alleys, barely slowing before rocketing across the streets, then made a hard turn on the next cross street. It was a broad thoroughfare that didn’t see much traffic, at least when he’d been on it, but it was also a risky place to speed, with police and military installations strung along its length.

His destination was a short distance ahead: one right turn, then another, onto a jammed street that passed cruise ships, dive shops and hotels. Their speed diminished significantly—down to ten, maybe fifteen miles an hour, with all the cars, scooters and tourists. His nerves humming, he kept an eye on the traffic both ahead and behind until he passed under the pedestrian bridge. Just past it, he goosed the engine, cutting it too close crossing lanes in front of a ’70s-era VW Bug. He drove up the handicapped ramp, crossed the sidewalk and eased through an open gate.

A cinder-block wall sheltered them from the street. He nosed the bike in until the front wheel met the wall, then killed the engine and climbed off. He removed his helmet first, and he ran his fingers through his hair before grinning weakly. “Hell. This time I’m gonna kill Trent.” He had to lean against the wall—his legs were that wobbly—and needed a couple deep breaths to fill his lungs again.

Cate finally swung her leg over and eased to the ground. She was steadier than he, but why shouldn’t she be? She was an E.R. doctor. Life-and-death emergencies were part of her daily routine. Though not, he noted as her hands began to tremble, her own life or death. “Were those men police officers?”

“Doubtful. If it had been cops shooting at us, we never would have made it this far.” Fairly certain his legs would hold him, he pushed away from the wall and unlashed her suitcase. “You have a swimsuit in there?”

She blinked, the only indication of her surprise at the change of subject. “Of course. Why?”

“Because we need to blend in, and in this part of town, most women are in swimsuits.” He gestured broadly to make his point. “Put it on.”

Her eyes widened with good old-fashioned modesty.
“Here?”

He grinned. That might be fun—Cate Calloway stripping on a public street—but it wasn’t gonna happen in his lifetime. “There are bathrooms down at the dive shop. Come on.”

Both a ramp and stairs led to the dive shop doors. Divers were gathered around the dock, checking their equipment, and the shop employees were in and out, wheeling air tanks, answering questions, giving advice before the afternoon dive boat headed out. He wished he had his own gear and could just join the crowd. Under the sea seemed the last place those men would look for them.

Of course, the doc couldn’t dive, but she wasn’t his responsibility. He’d be more than happy to pay whatever it cost to get her back to the airport and on the next flight out, or put her on a cruise ship for the remainder of her vacation. Anything to not have to deal with her.

But not dealing with her had never been that easy.

Once inside the shop, he pointed out the bathroom, then approached the man at the counter. Mario glanced up, then did a double take. “I didn’t see your name down for this dive. How have you been?”

“Good, except I’m not diving this time. I’m here with a…friend who hasn’t discovered the joys of scuba yet.”

“She must be some…friend to keep you out of the water for long. Where is she? You got her hidden from the rest of us so we won’t try to steal her away?”

“Bathroom. Listen, I just picked her up at the airport and was wondering if I could leave her stuff here while we have lunch.”

Mario reached under the counter and produced a lock and a key. “Any empty basket you want.”

“Thanks. Hey, and a T-shirt, too.” Justin accepted the key, shrugged off his backpack, then pulled his shirt over his head, replacing it with the blue one Mario picked. Divers Do It Deeply, the slogan proclaimed above a picture of a smiling mermaid. After paying for it, he faced the dock. “You’ve got a good crowd.”

“Regulars. Louisiana. Argentina. The single divers’ group. You’ve probably gone out with all of them.”

He probably had, which made him turn his attention back inside. He didn’t want anyone besides the dive shop employees to recognize him. Keeping a low profile was something he’d had to learn, and he needed it now especially.

A couple of women came out of the bathroom wearing dive skins. They were solid women, in black Lycra that gave curves to their curves. Side by side, they completely blocked the view of the woman behind them until they angled off to the steps to the dock.

She was slender, shapely, nice breasts, well-defined biceps, flat middle. Her shirt was white, sheer cotton, unbuttoned to reveal a bikini top in the vivid colors of a vintage Hawaiian shirt: red, blue, purple, slashes of orange and yellow. A squishy straw hat covered her head, its floppy brim concealing her face, but there was nothing much hidden by her blue shorts—
short
being the important word. The faded denim clung to her hips and butt and left plenty of leg exposed, all the way down to a pair of flip-flops and painted red toenails. On an island filled with sexy women, she was one to make people look twice.

And she was headed to him.

Good God, it was Cate, looking less like a doctor than he’d ever seen her, and he’d known her long before she became one. She stopped beside him, one hand clenched around the handle of the suitcase she’d been pulling behind, and waited silently.

Mario gave a low whistle and grinned. “She might keep you out of the deep water,
amigo,
but be careful you don’t wind up in hot water.”

Justin’s answering smile was more of a bared-teeth grimace. He was already in hot water. He just hoped Cate didn’t make it boil.

Chapter 2

C
ate protested leaving her suitcase in the locked wire basket at the dive shop. She didn’t care if people stowed thousands of dollars’ worth of gear there on a daily basis. The items in that bag were all she had on the island with her. The stethoscope tucked into her medical bag in the suitcase was the best for picking up subtle heart sounds; it had been a med school graduation gift from her parents, and she wasn’t sure she could even hear anymore on lesser models. She didn’t wear much makeup, but what she wore would cost an arm and a leg to replace, and her favorite well-broken-in sneakers were in there, too. So was her Kindle, and the sunblock that would keep her from self-combusting under the tropical sun.

“You can’t go around dragging a suitcase without drawing attention,” Justin said. He secured the lock, then hung the key on its cord over his neck and slid it under his shirt. “Have you eaten? I haven’t eaten. Let’s get some lunch. And a drink. Or three.”

Scowling, Cate watched him saunter away before jogging to catch up. She grabbed his arm, slowing him enough to ease around in front of him and block his way at the base of the stairs. “Have you forgotten? Trent and Susanna have gone missing, La Casa is abandoned and someone shot at us!”

That one was still giving her palpitations at odd moments. She’d treated more than her share of gunshot wounds, but never, ever had she imagined that she could come
that
close to being the target of one herself. She’d
felt
the bullet pass her face, had felt the spray of dust as it bit into the concrete wall.

Justin was stubbornness in human form. “They’re not missing. They’re taking a break. They’re relaxing somewhere, sleeping off a big lunch, and now
I
need a big lunch. If you want to fast until they get back, feel free. You can keep me company while I eat.” Stepping around her, he started up the steep flight of stairs that led to the pedestrian bridge.

“Lazy, spoiled, self-centered,” she mumbled, staying a few steps behind him.

They reached the bridge, and she broke off muttering. Ahead of them was a hotel, the grass lush-green, palm trees and flowers everywhere, the swimming pool glittering brightly next to a thatch-roofed restaurant. Behind them was the water, dotted with boats, the most amazing blue-green hue she’d ever seen. With the warm sun, the gentle breezes, the rustle of palm fronds and that incredible water, it was…

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Justin’s voice was low and coming from right behind her, resonant, as it usually was, with self-satisfaction. But in this case, she couldn’t hold it against him. “The mainland’s over there. See those buildings? That’s Playa del Carmen.” He pointed, his forearm resting on her shoulder, bringing with it the mixed fragrances of sunshine and cologne. He smelled as expensive as he looked and, touristy T-shirt aside, he did look expensive.

And handsome, all golds and tans and browns, like some sort of tropical sun god.

She squeezed her eyes shut, chastising herself, blaming him. She wasn’t a foolish romantic. She preferred substance over form. She’d had her heart broken once before by a man so exactly like him they could be twins, and she’d learned her lesson. She wouldn’t repeat the past.

Besides, she didn’t even like the man, nor he her, and she was taking a self-imposed break from
any
kind of relationship, even with men she did like.

“This isn’t your first trip to Cozumel, is it?”

And
there
was a timely reminder of the man Justin Seavers was. “You know it isn’t. Trent and I came here on our honeymoon. We stayed at a hotel down there—” she pointed to the right “—all the way at the tip of the island, and he had a fling with not one but two women who worked there. I’m sure he told you all about it when we got home.”

For an instant, she thought she saw regret on his face, but his features shuttered so quickly, she was sure she must have been mistaken. He shifted away, then began walking again. She felt vaguely…guilty as she followed him.

On the opposite side of the bridge, a few steps led to the pool area, then a few steps more into the restaurant. It was open to the air, few walls, with an uncovered patio that held a scattering of tables. Justin headed in that direction, choosing a seat where he faced the ocean and the street.

“They’ve got great burgers here,” he said, his voice level as the waiter brought chips, salsa and menus.

“I didn’t come to Cozumel to eat a hamburger.” She didn’t realize how snippy she sounded until he replied.

“No, you came to find an outlet for that relentless do-gooder side of yours, to show people that you’re more compassionate than they are and—” he accepted a bottle of water from the waiter and twisted the cap off before raising it in a toast “—to spend some quality time with your ex-husband.”

Cate didn’t know whether to be insulted, dumbfounded or amused as he swigged the water. She did have a do-gooder side. She wasn’t nearly as giving as Susanna, but she donated her time and expertise when she could. She
wasn’t
trying to put on a display of compassion. Most people back home in Copper Lake, Georgia, didn’t have a clue about her volunteer activities, and she certainly didn’t care whether strangers in another country were impressed with her. As for the last…

The sound that finally escaped was as much snort as laughter. “I gave up on quality time—
any
time—with Trent about five years before the divorce. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s in love with Susanna. In case you hadn’t noticed, he hasn’t been in love with me for years, if he ever was.”

She’d thought he was, once upon a time.
He’d
thought he was. But Justin never had.

Uncomfortably, she drank some water while studying the menu. Everything sounded so good, including the hamburger he’d recommended, but by the time the waiter returned, she’d settled on seviche. Shrimp, fish and conch cooked by way of chemical reaction—there was a dish she couldn’t find at home in Copper Lake.

Silence settled over the table after the waiter took their orders. She snacked on the chips and chunky salsa and watched the birds searching for treats on the patio. Justin watched the traffic on the street. To anyone who bothered to notice them, they probably looked like just another pair of tourists instead of two people who’d known each other thirteen years and had run out of civil things to say about ten minutes after they’d met.

Thirteen years. A long time. She’d been a sophomore at the University of Georgia at Athens. Justin and Trent had been juniors, despite the lack of attention they’d paid to their classes. College had been a four-year vacation for them, paid for by their families, with the only expectation that they earn a degree—not necessarily one they would use.